’The heart which like a staff was one
  For mine to lean and rest upon,
  The strongest on the longest day,
  With steadfast love, is caught away,
  And yet my days go on, go on.’ — E.  B. Browning.

Miss Miller came to call with her brother a few days afterwards.  Agatha and Elfie were busy putting some finishing touches to the drawing-room when they arrived.

Miss Miller looked round the room, when she was seated, with some interest; and then she said abruptly, —

’Too much furniture, and too many useless ornaments, my dears.  A drawing-room ought to be for use, and not for show.  Who arranges your flowers?’

She might well ask, for none but an artist’s hand could have grouped together so harmoniously the daffodils and primroses, with trails of ivy and fern in their beds of moss.

‘Clare does,’ responded Elfie brightly, sitting down by her side, whilst Agatha turned to the vicar.  ’She went out this morning and picked them in a wood close to us.  Aren’t they lovely?’

’Not Major Lester’s wood, I hope.  He will not be best pleased to have any one from this house trespassing in his places.  Miss Dane, do you know the history of your house?’

Agatha looked up, a little startled at the sharp voice.  ’I did not know it had any history,’ she said.

’It is best you should know facts.  No, Wilfrid, you need not stop me; they will hear our village gossip fast enough.  To begin with — your house used to be the old vicarage.  It was built on the site of an old monastery.  Our church is four hundred years old.  The monastery came to grief long before the church.  When old Squire Lester died, most of us thought the Hall would go to Mr. Tom.  He had always been erratic and restless, spending most of his time abroad, and the squire never forgave his marriage with a French artist’s daughter.  He disinherited him, and made his second son leave the army and come home.  A couple of years after, Mr. Tom returned, having lost his wife, and bringing a little son with him, a boy of four years.  The old squire seemed to relent a little then, and was always having the child at the house.  Mr. Tom, as we call him here, settled in this house, and was on friendly terms with his father till his death.  Major Lester then took the property.  He had an only son, too; and the boys, being of the same age, were much together; but their fathers would hardly speak to each other, and were angry at the friendship between the boys.  I remember being at Major Lester’s the very day of the sad event.  I was calling on Mrs. Lester, and we heard a violent altercation going on in the hall between the brothers.  Mr. Tom had come up for his son, who had made him anxious by his non-appearance at home the night before.  The lads had been out for a night’s rabbit-snaring with the gamekeeper, and Alick had slept at the Hall without the major’s knowledge.  I don’t know why this should have led to such a violent quarrel, but Alick was summoned from the stables, where he was found with his cousin Roger, and forbidden ever to put his foot on Major Lester’s property again.  Then and there the lads were separated; but as Mr. Tom marched off with his son, he shouted out to his brother, “You’ll live to see my son stand in Roger’s shoes yet, and the property will come back to the rightful heir!”

’I remember Mrs. Lester turning to me, and trembling like a leaf:  “He will murder Roger!  The dreadful man!” she exclaimed; “that is the only way the property will come to Alick!”

’The very next day both boys were missing.  Mr. Tom seemed quite as distracted as his brother, but he declared he knew nothing of them, and for a month no tidings were received, in spite of all the detectives at work.  Then came a letter from Alick, written for both of them, saying they had taken their passage together for Australia, and had already got the promise of being taken on a farm; for they were made so miserable at home by the quarrels of their fathers, that they had “determined to clear out of it,” and nothing would separate them from each other.  They have not been in this neighbourhood since; but last autumn news came that Roger had disappeared.  Alick wrote, giving details: — “I think Roger was sent on some confidential errand by the farmer, for he had money with him, and they fear that he was robbed, perhaps murdered on the way.”  Mrs. Lester, who was never very strong, took to her bed, and died a fortnight after the news was brought to her.  But before she died she emphatically declared that Mr. Tom and his son had decoyed Roger out of the country to make away with him; and Alick was solely responsible for his death.  She persisted in this until the major more than half believed it; and two days after the funeral he came down here, and had another most violent quarrel with his brother.  It almost came to blows; and Mr. Tom decamped altogether within a week from that time.  I only tell you the story.  Some people here think badly of him, and his disappearance looks suspicious.  Of course he gave out that he was going to Australia to find out the rights of it; but Major Lester does not believe this.’

‘I wonder Major Lester does not go out himself,’ said Agatha, feeling strangely interested in this story.

’He is too crippled by gout to do so.  He has put the matter into the hands of the police out there.  It’s a sad story.  The major is most regular at church, and highly respected in the neighbourhood.  Mr. Tom is most erratic; I believe he has been seen in the Methodist chapel occasionally, but won’t put his foot inside our church; and he is no loss at all to the neighbourhood, for he lived the life of a recluse.  I always look upon this house as an ill-omened place.  I didn’t tell you that the last vicar who lived here died of delirium tremens.  He was a disgrace to his profession, but that was thirty years ago.  The new vicarage was built shortly after.’  Miss Miller paused for breath, and her brother remarked, ’You must not prejudice the Miss Danes, Deborah, against their house.  It is a quaint place, and its past need not be recorded.’

‘We are charmed with it,’ said Agatha simply; ’and we have moved into it at the right time.  Spring in the country is always so delightful.’

Miss Miller was more agreeable when visiting than Agatha had hoped for, and though she insisted on the monopoly of the conversation, and gave the good vicar little chance of putting in a word, yet Agatha felt that they would be pleasant neighbours.  There was a good deal of discussion over the Lesters’ history, but Gwen dismissed the subject in her usual way.

’Major Lester is another Jacob.  There’s nothing more to be said, and Mr. Tom is a much-abused and misunderstood man!’

Agatha began to settle into her new life very happily.  She became engrossed in housekeeping for several hours every morning, and was delighted to hear of a seamstress who could come in and work by the day.  Deb Howitt was sent for, and she proved a skilful and industrious needlewoman, and amused and interested all who came in contact with her by her quaint remarks.

‘Yes,’ she remarked to Gwen, who had strolled into Agatha’s bedroom one morning, and found Deb seated on the floor shaping a refractory carpet that would not fit, ’my sister is the stay-at-home, and I bring her the news of the world as I pick it up when I’m out visitin’.  It’s surprisin’ the stories of high and low life that I hear.  I take it all in, and think it over while I’m stitchin’, and come to many a wise conclusion before I take it back with me and talk it over with Patty.’

‘And what conclusion will you come to about us?’ asked Gwen.

The old woman nodded her head with a meaning smile.

‘Ay, well, ye’re a house full of women, and there’s an astonishin’ little scoldin’ and quarrellin’.  I should say, taking the cluster of you together, that the one at either end keeps the peace in the middle.’

Gwen laughed delightedly.  ’You are right:  Agatha and Elfie are the peace-makers, Clare and I the disturbing elements!  What else?’

But Deb shook her head, and would say no more.

Clare and Gwen shared the study very amicably together, but both were out of doors a great deal — Gwen tackling the untidy garden with a great deal of energy, but little experience; and Clare wandering about the lanes and fields, doing little, and dreaming much.  Then came Captain Knox’s farewell visit, and it was a very short one.  He appeared at seven o’clock one evening, just as the sisters were sitting down to their high tea, which meal they had substituted for the orthodox dinner to which they had been accustomed in London.

Clare’s cheeks grew pale as she greeted him.  ‘How long have you?’ she asked, a little breathlessly.

’Till eight o’clock to-morrow morning.  I must catch the 8.30 train from Brambleton.  We sail to-morrow afternoon.’

It was rather a silent meal, and being a rough, stormy night Clare took him off to the study directly afterwards.  She was in the mood that pleased her lover best:  sweet and gentle, and showing more affection than she was wont to do, for she was not demonstrative usually.

‘Hugh,’ she said later in the evening, after sitting still and letting him do most of the talking, ’I wish I were going with you.  I feel as if this parting is going to be a long one.  I can’t bear this wind and rain to-night — it makes me feel as if something awful is coming; it was just the same the first night we were here.  I have a kind of presentiment about your going, as if something evil is coming upon us.  Couldn’t you give it up?’

Captain Knox smiled a little, though his face looked troubled as he drew her closer to him.

’My darling, you would not really wish me to.  We must look forward to six months hence, when I return, and then, Clare, I shall wait no longer.  You must come to me for good and all.’

Clare did not reply for a minute, then gently slipping her hand into the strong one near her, she said, very wistfully, ’Hugh, don’t you think we should both have more comfort if we had more religion?  I haven’t enough of it to satisfy me, I think.  Now Agatha trusts everything in her life to — to God, and is never worried or anxious.  I can’t do that, and oh, I’m so unsatisfied!  You don’t know how restless and wretched I feel sometimes!  I should like to be able to pray for you properly when you are away, and feel that you were praying for me.’

Captain Knox was silent for a little, then he said quietly, —

’I have a certain amount of religion, as you know, and you couldn’t have too much for me, at least as long as you keep it to yourself.  I think every woman is the better for being truly religious; but we men who knock about amongst all kinds of evil, well, we can’t expect to be very devout.  It is soon knocked out of one.  Pray for me as much as you like, darling; I need it!’

‘I can’t help thinking of Nannie’s verse she gave me one evening,’ said Clare, with a little sigh:  ’"Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for Him.”  It sounds so nice; but I don’t know how to do it.  And I am sure I shall need patience till you come back again!’

’We must write to each other, and think of next autumn.  I shall not forget to send you the translation of those characters on that old cupboard.  I am convinced they are Arabic.’

‘Oh, bother the cupboard!’ was Clare’s petulant retort.  ’It is too bad you are going away for so long, and you take it so coolly.  I don’t believe you mind a bit!’

Here she burst into a passion of tears, and poor Captain Knox, who was controlling his feelings for her sake, almost gave way himself.

It was not a happy evening, and Clare cried herself to sleep that night, feeling that she was the most unfortunate, wretched girl in the world.  She crept down the next morning with a white face to give him his early breakfast, and then drove to Brambleton station with him; so no one saw the last parting.  When she returned, she went upstairs to her room, and shut herself up for the rest of the morning.

’It is a pity Clare did not show her affection for him more when she was with him,’ said Gwen impatiently, when Agatha came to her in the study, and wondered if she should go up and try to comfort her.  ’I often marvel at Hugh’s infatuation for her.  I don’t believe she knows what real love is.  She is so taken up with her own feelings and moods, that she has no time for his, and I think he is far too good for her.  If she is so discontented before marriage, what will she be afterwards?  He will have a miserable time of it, I am afraid!’

’You are too hard upon her!  I daresay his absence will prove to her how truly she loves him, for I am quite sure she does.’

‘I have no patience with her!’ said Gwen shortly; and then she buried herself in her book again, whilst Agatha went away and shed some tears herself over Captain Knox’s departure.